On Sunday, November 9, 2025, a quiet but momentous scene played out across Iraq: members of the country’s security forces and thousands of displaced citizens—most notably the Yazidi minority—lined up to cast their ballots in early voting for Iraq’s crucial parliamentary elections. While the official election day is set for Tuesday, this early round of voting was reserved for the 1.3 million army and security personnel and about 26,000 displaced people, including those still living in camps years after the Islamic State group’s (IS) terror campaign tore through their communities.
According to Al Jazeera, polling stations opened their doors at 7 a.m. local time and remained open until 6 p.m., with 809 centers ready for security forces and 97 stations across 27 sites for internally displaced people. The Iraqi News Agency reported that the process proceeded “smoothly and in an organised manner,” a welcome change from the violence and chaos that have marred past elections. Still, the shadow of instability was never far away: a candidate was assassinated in the run-up to this year’s vote, a grim reminder of the risks that still haunt Iraq’s fragile democracy.
This is Iraq’s sixth parliamentary election since the 2003 U.S.-led invasion toppled Saddam Hussein, and it comes at a time of deep uncertainty. Prime Minister Mohammed Shia al-Sudani, who was elected in 2022 with the backing of pro-Iran parties, is seeking a second term. The outcome will help determine whether he can maintain Iraq’s delicate balancing act between regional powerhouses Tehran and Washington, especially as fears simmer over a possible new conflict between Israel and Iran.
The stakes are high: nearly 21 million Iraqis are eligible to vote across 4,501 polling stations nationwide, competing for 329 parliamentary seats. More than 7,750 candidates—almost a third of them women—are in the race, though an electoral law revived in 2023 is seen by many as favoring larger, established parties. Of these seats, 25 percent are reserved for women and nine for religious minorities, a nod to Iraq’s complex tapestry of ethnic and religious identities.
For the Yazidis, the election is both a symbol of hope and a reminder of lingering despair. Many Yazidis fled their homes in Sinjar, Nineveh province, over a decade ago after IS militants rampaged through their villages, killing and enslaving thousands. Today, many remain in camps near Dohuk in the semi-autonomous Kurdish region, unable to return due to political disputes and shattered infrastructure. As the Associated Press reported, a polling station set up in a small school in Dohuk was nearly empty until mid-morning, when clusters of voters—some clutching worn identification cards, others guiding elderly relatives—began to trickle in.
Inside, the atmosphere was tense but determined. Dozens of monitors from rival parties and candidates crowded the classrooms, watching over a process that, for many Yazidis, was fraught with skepticism. “Eleven years passed and the situation is the same,” Khedhir Qassim, a displaced Yazidi from Sinjar, told the Associated Press. “We want them to support us and rebuild our areas that are ruined due to their political dispute and where everyone works for their own benefit.”
For others, the act of voting was less about faith in the system and more about pragmatism. Edris Zozani, another Yazidi voter in Dohuk, explained his decision: “If we have independent Yazidi candidates, they wouldn’t be able to represent us effectively. But if they go to parliament as part of strong lists, like the KDP, they would be in a better position to support the Yazidi community.” The Kurdish Democratic Party (KDP) is one of two main Kurdish parties in Iraq and holds significant sway in Dohuk, offering Yazidis a potential—if imperfect—path to political influence.
The Yazidis’ plight is emblematic of broader challenges facing Iraq’s displaced. Despite the defeat of IS, many Yazidi families returning to Sinjar find little left: homes are destroyed, infrastructure is wrecked, and the area is carved up by multiple armed groups. Political disputes between Baghdad’s central government and Kurdish authorities have led to rival local administrations, leaving basic services and reconstruction efforts in limbo.
Meanwhile, in Baghdad, the early voting brought together a different cross-section of Iraq’s fractured society. Soldiers, police officers, and members of the Popular Mobilization Forces (PMF)—a coalition of primarily Shiite, Iran-backed militias—cast their ballots. The PMF, formally placed under the control of Iraq’s military in 2016, continues to operate with significant autonomy. Its future is one of the thorniest issues facing the next parliament, especially as Baghdad and Washington spar over the presence and influence of Iran-backed groups.
“I voted for the list that defends the PMF,” one militiaman told the Associated Press after voting in Baghdad, speaking on condition of anonymity. He declined to specify which list, but his sentiment reflects the deep loyalties and divisions that shape Iraqi politics. Several PMF-affiliated groups have their own political parties running in this election, further blurring the line between military and political power.
The parliament is currently considering legislation that would formalize the relationship between the military and the PMF—a move strongly opposed by Washington. The outcome could have far-reaching implications for Iraq’s security and its relationships with both Iran and the United States.
Yet the election is not just about high-level political maneuvering. For many Iraqis, it’s a test of faith in a system that has often failed to deliver. Past elections have been plagued by allegations of corruption, vote-buying, and mismanagement. This year, 848 candidates were disqualified, sometimes for vague reasons like “insulting religious rituals or members of the armed forces.” Observers worry that turnout could dip below the record low of 41 percent seen in 2021, a sign of growing apathy and skepticism among voters weary of entrenched leadership and endemic corruption.
Adding to the uncertainty, influential Shia cleric Moqtada al-Sadr—whose bloc won the largest number of seats in 2021 before withdrawing from government talks—has called for a boycott, labeling the process a “flawed election.” His absence, and that of his supporters, could further skew the results and complicate efforts to form a stable government.
Still, some observers see reasons for cautious optimism. “The fact that Iraq is having another election on time is a good sign that it is on track of democratisation,” Muhanad Seloom, assistant professor at the Doha Institute for Graduate Studies, told Al Jazeera. But he quickly tempered his assessment: “The road has not been easy for Iraq and I would say that the Iraqi government doesn’t have the luxury to be independent, either from Iran or the United States.”
By longstanding post-invasion convention, Iraq’s prime minister is a Shia Muslim, the parliament’s speaker is a Sunni, and the largely ceremonial presidency goes to a Kurd. Among the frontrunners in this year’s race, alongside al-Sudani, are former Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki and Muslim scholar Ammar al-Hakim—names that reflect the enduring influence of established political blocs.
As Iraqis prepare for Tuesday’s main vote, the echoes of past trauma, persistent political disputes, and hopes for a more inclusive future all hang in the balance. Whether this election will bring meaningful change or simply reinforce old divisions remains to be seen, but for those who braved the early polls, it was a chance—however slim—to have their voices heard.
